Sunshine and Rainbows

by Jigglywigglypuff

College AU set in the year 1999. Mikasa met Eren the first week of junior year, and it seemed like love at first sight. However, the intensity of their fast romance would be their downfall as Eren's childhood trauma comes to light and threatens their relationship. A story of love, heartbreak, and friendship while attending university in the late 90's.

15. Say I

When Eren was young, he liked to try to count the trees on his street. Walking down the block, mentally calculating each individual tree until he neared the main intersection. He never finished, something always distracting him. A sign at the corner grocery, a flock of squirrels chasing each other. Most of the time it was the cars that would pass by. And he would always remember that he lived in the city. Despite how many trees barricaded them from that intersection.

Eren thought he preferred the city. The noise, the bustle, having the option of being able to do something at any hour of the day. But when he realized he didn't do much, he also understood he didn't like the city. Only the idea of it. The thought of freedom, experiences, the exploitation. He only liked the noise, how it distracted him from a place he hated more than the city: his own fucking head.

When he parked his motorcycle on the street, he looked down at the leaves that embellished the cement. Orange and brown petals from the trees he could never count. Everyone thought it was so beautiful, the colors of autumn, sprinkling itself onto the streets and sidewalk, decorating the grass. But Eren saw only decay, like dead body parts dripping from the trees and filling the earth with its rot. Why were dead leaves considered so pretty? They were dead. The ground, the concrete, all covered in death.

And he held his helmet against his chest, hunching into the seat of his bike, as the wind teased him, blowing against the loose tendrils of hair that adorned his forehead.

He felt the stiffness of his leather jacket at his elbow as he adjusted his backpack over his shoulder. When he reached the front door, he faltered, key in hand, a nervous jitter to his wrist. Early afternoon, and he could already see the colorful swirls of the sunset envelope the sky. It was almost the same color as the rot of tree guts that dirtied the ground.

And as he slipped inside his home, he was greeted with a warm smell. Something cozy, inviting. But it didn't make him feel any differently. Even when he looked down at the tile that was once covered in linoleum, observed the bland décor that he had years to get used to (but never quite did). When he saw his brother and father seated together at that same goddamn table—no typewriter, but a similar newspaper unfolded—

The turbulent eighties soundtrack that had played in his head in preparation for this moment came to a screeching halt. No glam rock, synths, everything that he liked to imagine when he thought of home.

Because this wasn't the eighties, but worse. It was fucking Y2K.

~oOo~

"This Y2K issue has everyone at the hospital very concerned."

Eren groaned into his palms. The sound was light, barely audible, yet his annoyance was visibly apparent as he pressed his elbows into the glass of the table, his face concealed by the salvation of his hands. He could feel the pulsing of his forehead, pattering against his fingertips. Why did they need to talk? Couldn't they all just eat in fucking silence?

But even he wasn't eating, just picking at his food as an excuse to indulge in the wine glass planted beside him. It wasn't his preferred poison, but it would do. He attempted discretion as he pressed the glass against his lips, feeling the gentle spill of warm liquid squish in his mouth. And he elongated it, wanted to taste the sharpness of it, feel its bitter travel down his throat until gushed warmly into his belly.

His father had been the one to bring up the subject, sitting across from him, slicing neatly into a piece of turkey on his plate. He sat up straight, alert and attentive, the collar of his button up crisp and folded to precision. Eren slouched in his seat, his navy sweater hugging at the curves of his arms and abdomen, moving those troublesome strands of hair away from his eyes. He had tied half of his locks into a ponytail, leaving the rest to settle just below his chin. He usually liked how the baby hairs coiled his face. But today it bothered him, how he could feel the strands tickle his skin.

"I have actually had patients who think it's a virus they can catch."

At the sound of Zeke's cavalier voice, Eren took another swig of wine, a dimple pressing above his brow. He gave his brother a look that was strange but neutral enough for him not to comment on it. A clean grey suit draped his form, a red tie snug and spruce at the collar of his shirt. Did he have plans after this? A date? Just looking at him curled a heavier hunch to his back.

Grisha chuckled lightly at the comment, glancing between both his sons. "It's a bit ridiculous how little everyone knows about this bug. It really isn't a cause for panic. It will have an impact on scheduling—"

"It's actually the end of the world."

Zeke closed his eyes, pushing at the bridge of his glasses lightly as he heaved a sigh. It was extended, dramatic. Eren had hit a nerve and it made him feel good for one stupid second, that a clever smile attempted to creep on his mouth.

"It's not the end of the world, Eren," he finally spoke, a glimmer to his glasses as he looked in his direction. "And I'm sure you already know that."

But Eren shrugged, leaning his weight against the backrest. He could see himself in the reflection of the table. Smug expression, arms furled over his chest. He looked like a goddamn asshole.

"If the computers can't go past 1999, it's the end of the world. Everything is going to crash and stop working. We're fucking goners."

He wanted him to get heated, to further the conversation. But Zeke must have learned by now how to ignore Eren's instigations. Instead, he joined him in a sip of wine, a silver shimmer in his eyes as he wiped at the crimson drops that stained his beard.

The way he scanned Eren was a bit uncomfortable. "You're looking darker than usual."

And he glanced down briefly at his forearms, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His skin was smooth, bronzed, the bulge of thick veins sprouting from his wrist. "It's called tanning."

The roll to Zeke's eyes was subtle, that his gaze could have just drifted casually, innocently. But Eren knew him better than that. "Just be mindful. Skin cancer is a thing, you know."

"Yea, so is brain cancer."

Zeke had taken his silverware, but didn't continue eating. His eyes fell forward onto his plate, and he blinked several times, probably to control his reaction. "If that was supposed to be an insult, it was a failed attempt. That's not how brain cancer works." He took a deep breath, and the next few words seemed to slip from his lips against his self-restraint. "Dumb fuck."

Eren was pleased however, despite hearing the gentle clang of cutlery hitting the table from his father's end. H seemed to take a similar stance as Eren had, elbows on the table, palms cloaking his face. He kneaded his head, slightly ruffling his dark hair. "It would be nice if the both of you could get along for once."

But Eren shrugged, crossing his leg over his thigh. "We're just playing around. Right, bro?"

He didn't even look at Eren as he took a rather large gulp of wine. "Yea. Sure."

"Eren."

His eyes shot up at his father's beckon, watching as his hands shifted to his lap, a rather solemn expression taking him. It was oddly quiet for a moment, even as Eren remained attentive, his brows lifted as his back slid against the chair.

"How is school going over there? I don't hear from you. And you haven't been sending pictures."

He hesitated, suddenly bothered again by the coils of hair peppering his forehead. "It's fine. It's really nothing different."

"But you like it there better? No plans on transferring back here next year?"

He sat with the thought. He hadn't really had a chance to consider it. He could move back home, get back into the swing of things in Marley. Go to class, get drunk with Floch, fuck random girls. Somehow it didn't sound very tempting, that the more he let the idea simmer, it just seemed so pathetic.

"I don't know." He should have left it at that, and it would have been enough for his dad to drop the subject and talk about some other mundane thing. But Eren was fidgeting in his chair, a heaviness filling his chest that he thought would drown him if he didn't empty it even a little.

"I mean, there was someone…I'd want to stay, but I don't know."

Zeke looked up from his plate, both men anchoring their attention towards him.

"A…girl?" Grisha uttered.

Zeke narrowed his eyes. "One you actually like?"

Eren hoped his tan camouflaged the flush that tinted his cheeks. He felt himself sink, wishing he could hide underneath the table. If only it wasn't fucking made of glass.

"Yea, a girl." His fingers massaged into his temple restlessly. Their stares were harrowing, burning a hole into his head. "She's…I like her. A lot."

A gentle smile found Grisha's face, that he pushed his plate forward to allow his arms onto the surface. "Well, don't be shy. Tell us about her, son."

And what could he say, to these men suddenly so keen on his love life? How could he explain who she was in such short words, to describe her beauty, her elegance, kindness? How fucking talented she was. The way she made him feel whenever she laughed or held him. How he truly believed the sun lived in her smile, dripping from her lips, that he could feel its warmth and embrace when she kissed him?

His posture lifted, yet quickly slumped again, and he rediscovered his reflection in the glass table. It was a grimace filled with certainty, yet the darkness inside him pushed on his brows. "Her name is Mikasa. And I love her."

Grisha's eyes grew ample, apparent even behind the confinement of his glasses, as Zeke sat back against his chair, visibly stunned, arms draping over the backrest. Crinkles pressed into the crisp fabric of his suit.

"Wow…maybe Y2K is the end of the world."

A grin curved itself into his father's expression, that he grazed at the salt and pepper hairs dusted along his chin. And Eren didn't know if he felt mortified or relived, because his chest felt so damn heavy still, and he seemed to be immune to the wine.

"Well, that's a first," the eldest man at the table mused. "You should have told us about her sooner. I would have loved to meet her."

His face disappeared behind his palms. The pulsing at his head was getting worse, a sharp stinging in his gut. But he needed to get it out. He came here with a purpose this weekend. He had to say it, all of it.

"We broke up."

Eren didn't need to see it, how their faces fell. He could feel it in the silence, the discomfort that seemed to ooze from their bodies, his own included. How bright the light from the chandelier shown above them. It glittered glaring specks on their forms. His fingers opened to take a peek at his dad. Something that resembled sympathy settled on his expression.

"I'm…sorry to hear that, son."

Zeke sipped from his glass, swishing the wine as if he were a fucking connoisseur. "So how'd you fuck this one up?"

Grisha shot his son a thick glance, but it made no difference to Eren, his brother's voice was just another part of the noise in the city. He needed it to get by, to live, to feel some sort of emotion.

So, he answered him simply. "I cheated on her."

And his response was as expected. A somewhat bemused sigh. "Of course. That's very in character for you."

Eren would have countered him, but it was fucking true. It was exactly like him. That was who he was, a piece of shit. He was always the first one to admit it. He would never deny the accusation. And it didn't hurt hearing it from Zeke. But more from the self-realization as he wondered if it was even possible for him to change, even if he wanted to.

His thoughts were racing, sitting there at the table, just the three of them. Just like it had always been before he moved out. The same tension, awkwardness. How he wanted to crawl out of his skin to avoid feeling like this. Eren wished he could feel the vibration of his pager, to look down and see Floch's number digitize the small screen. But no one was looking for him today.

"I love her. I can't live without her." He didn't know who he was talking to. Zeke, his father? To the fucking gods? Spewing a confession of love and guilt into slick, tanned palms. Blackness clouded his vision, and whenever he saw nothing, he saw her. The fluorescent skin that wrapped her beautiful body, the sunshine in her smile.

Who was he thinking about?

Eren squeezed at his temples. His head was pounding. "I really fucked up. I want her back. I want her so much." And it was happening again, two visions blending into one. The sunshine, shiny black hair. A warm caress. Fingers smoothing along his scalp in reassurance.

He barely caught Zeke's gaze, noticing the purse of his lips, his arms crossed in intrigue as he scratched at the blonde scruff on his jaw.

"I'd like to see the girl who made you so lovesick," he uttered, though it came out more gently than anyone would have expected. "You have a picture of her?"

Eren's eyes wandered to his backpack, thrown carelessly onto the floor beside his chair. For a moment, he didn't move. And though it was only a second, it felt prolonged, that he could count every patter of his heartbeat. It felt like it was sprinting laps in his chest.

Then he pulled out a textbook, a very specific one, balancing the hardcover on his lap as he opened the front and found a small stash of photographs tucked neatly into the binding.

An awkward smile, a silly peace sign. Sunlight spilling from her lips. Eren found himself staring at the photo, at the very first picture of her he had captured. Taking the stack out of the book, he looked through them as if he hadn't a thousand times before. It was like moving through a flipbook, watching the progression of her dance come alive in the glossy sheets.

And he smiled then, softly, his own breath warming him, that when he passed the pictures to Zeke and saw the lift of his brother's brows as his eyes drank her in, he felt reaffirmed.

He nodded carefully, as if in approval, shuffling through the photographs. "A dancer, huh? She's definitely an upgrade from the white trash you usually bring around here."

"Zeke." Grisha forced a solemn glare, but it went overlooked, like all of his other interjections. When his son handed him the prints, a similar pleasant cast seemed to paint him.

"She's beautiful, Eren. She seems like a very nice girl." A paused lulled between them, as Grisha seemed to focus on one particular photo. Eren wasn't sure which one it was. "Any chance you two can work things out?"

"I'm trying," he confessed, a bit of nausea tugging at his insides. "I want to. I have to." He could see the glaze of his eyes in the glass table. How bright and lustrous they seemed, taking a large plot of his face. Such a deep shade of green. So different from the decay of the trees he had never successfully counted.

And now the pictures were adorned at the middle of the table, almost like a centerpiece. Neatly scattered. The last one his dad had been looking at was, in fact, the very first photo of her clumsy pose.

Eren fixated on that image, mourning her sunshine. He gathered the courage to look his dad in the eyes, a sudden influx of determination seeping into his blood.

"I messed up really bad. I think there's only one way I can fix it." He felt the urge to stand but remained seated, his breath lodged in his lungs. "Dad, I want you to give me Mom's ring."

~oOo~

The story of the night Eren was shot was not one he liked to tell. And most of it, he couldn't even remember. It was told to him, almost like a bedtime story. The details murmured against his will.

He barely remembered the weeks he spent in the hospital. It was like a very hazy dream, only splatters of memories reviving themselves at random. Sometimes while he slept, others during times of peace and serenity. But always in the same way.

A throbbing ache at his wound, the physical reminder of what had happened to him. It would always take him back to the moment, when the bullet first pierced his flesh. How he felt the tender warmth before he felt the pain. But really, immediately, it felt like nothing. Even as the blood spilled from his gut, the viscous crimson staining everything it touched and oozing even from his mouth, it felt like nothing. Nothing physically, as his body had shut down, but everything mentally. Shock, confusion, anger. Hatred. That's what getting shot in the stomach felt like. It was fucking agony.

Somehow, he lived and she didn't. And he figured she must have been the sacrifice for his own life. She died, and he should have changed his life for her, so it wouldn't have been in vain. And he really tried, he really fucking tried. He did well in school, just like she wanted. He was going to college, just like she wanted. He tried to live for her, but he really wasn't living. He was tolerating being alive.

So many nights in the hospital he couldn't remember. Except the worst nights, the ones that hurt the most. They followed him like a plaguing dream. When his father and brother visited him and said they caught the man who did this. They found the rings. As if it would change anything, make him feel better. It only made it worse. The pain, the anger, the hatred. Whoever he was, he should have gotten away with it. Because now what happened truly was for fucking nothing. His mother died for no fucking reason.

What was the point? What was the goddamn point? For a cassette? Rings that were never even stolen? Because he couldn't wait until tomorrow? He needed to go right then. She was tired. He didn't listen. They would have been home in twenty minutes. They should have been home.

Eren didn't know if he missed his room. It was big and comfortable, window designed in the perfect position to sneak out. And he had, many times before. Always to do bullshit things with his bullshit friend. But, when he lied in his bed that night, he saw that it was just a room. There was nothing special, nothing that marked him specifically. There was no personality. Just a bed and some nice things.

When he was a kid, posters of his favorite bands adorned the walls. He filled every inch of space with their memorabilia. Now everything was so blank and empty. Clean, neat, organized. But empty.

He lied in tousled bed sheets, the comforter in lumps around his legs, his neck hunched from the stack of pillows beneath him. The light of a lava lamp engulfed the room. Neon green hitting his body, distorting the hue of his skin. It was a colorful darkness, and he would usually enjoy watching the sludge float around in harmony. It was somehow soothing, as mundane as it was.

Eren felt warm that night, that he took off his shirt, his skin caressed by the air that bothered him, flushed a bright shade of green. He could feel his nipples pebble, despite the heat that bubbled from him. Abs contracted from concentration, as if he could focus on each individual muscle. A pang of hunger burrowed itself in his gut, but it didn't bother him. It was the dryness in his throat, the desire of his tongue to indulge in something bitter, harsh. That wine did nothing. But he needed to stop himself. He knew it was getting out of control.

So he focused his attention on something else. Not the lava lamp or the empty, boring ceiling of his room. But a small velvety box. He held it above his head, his fingers smoothing against the velour surface. His head sunk into the pillows, body engraved in the mattress. He felt so heavy, so much keeping him down, holding him back.

And when he opened the box, felt the pull of its flick as it unfastened, the neon light embraced the precious trinket within.

How much had this ring cost? Five thousand? Ten grand? He always thought it looked so big and gawdy on his mother's slender finger, like a burden on her hand. But she wore this ring every single day, as if it was molded into her skin.

As he tilted the box, the jewels shimmered in the darkness, yet catching the light of the lamp. The diamond accents around the band were as luminous as stars, their twinkle captivating, drenching the ring with their richness. And the center stone, a large, rectangular cut emerald. So hefty and dimensional, every dent and surface luminous, as if the stone was weeping. Crying luxurious, tantalizing tears.

"Your mother loved that ring because it reminded her of you."

Concentration laced his eyes, and he wondered if they were as shimmery and solemn as this emerald.

It always looked heavy on her finger. But she didn't mind. She wanted that ring. She loved it. An anniversary gift, his father said. Sometime after Eren was born. He wasn't old enough to remember when she received it. All of his memories of her, she was wearing that ring. He had only seen her take it off once. Hands shoved against brick. Trembling fingers, glistening rings. It looked heavier off her hand.

And yet, as he looked at the jewel and reminisced on everything it stood for, all he could think was that this was not the ring that he had asked for.

~oOo~

Eren hadn't thought this plan through. It was a habit of his, to make such emotional decisions. Usually while he was drinking. Because he was always drinking. And he was emotional and drunk when this idea had originally sprung in his mind.

"I want to ask her to marry me."

He had spoken the thought mostly to himself, trying to let the words marinate in his mouth. It had sounded much better in his head, during a drunken haze, rather than sitting at the table with his brother and father and watching their reactions. And yet the taste of the phrase was light, strange, that he shifted his jaw, uncertain of what he had just boldly declared.

And he expected backlash, resistance. The bizarre stares and parted mouths, searching for the correct rebuttal. Zeke was the first to break the silence. He always was.

"There are so many things wrong with this, I don't even know where to begin."

Usually Grisha would have intervened, but he sat in his seat silently, his eyes flickering between Eren and his lap. A hunch curved his spine while an aura of concern loomed over him.

And Zeke, with that solemn, fierce look on his face, his eyes like two bullets fired directly at him. Eren had been shot before. He knew what it was like to feel nothing but everything. All at once, in the absence. Mind and body merged into one, the hollowness that made him weak, but the heaviness dragging him down.

"First, Eren, if we haven't established this: you're a goddamn idiot." Zeke pushed his chair back, as if to stand and reprimand him, but he remained planted there. "You are sitting here, talking like a hopeless romantic, as if you can fix your problems with the power of love. But you're the problem, Eren. Do you really think if you asked her to marry you, she'd actually agree to it?"

No, she wouldn't.

But what else was he fucking supposed to do?

Win her back. That was the goal. And he needed to do something drastic. Apologizing didn't work. Begging. He wanted her forever. Why couldn't he ask her to marry him?

"But let's say she does. That in some kind of twisted alternate reality, she says yes. And you haven't changed. The thing that broke you apart is still there, hovering over your heads, until it happens again. Because a ring won't change that. It won't matter because it won't stop you from being you. And that's the fucking problem."

Eren had gotten into heated exchanges with his brother before. Usually it was part of their dynamic, from since he could even remember. But he saw something different in Zeke that night. Exhaustion, a different kind of outrage he wasn't used to. From the silver plated in his eyes, so stiff and unmoving, his pupils two desolate holes. Even the sheen of his glasses, an ominous gloss shimmering in ambiguity. Zeke was angry towards him, but even worse was that he just seemed so drained. How many words would it take to get through to him? How many people? What would it take for him to open his eyes and make the difficult and heart wrenching decision to finally be fucking happy?

"Why did you cheat on this girl, Eren? Do you even know? What makes you think you won't do it again, and again?"

And his answer was always the same. A truth he had decided upon himself. A pull of his brows, sunken into his forehead. He could feel sweat dotting at his skin, the sharpness that enveloped his throat.

"Because I'm fucked up."

Zeke's glare was tedious, unyielding. Eren had seen the same look from many people in his life, from those who loved him and he claimed to love. Just so fucking exhausted.

"Then get un-fucked."

The impact of his words felt like a kick to the face from a petite combat boot. A punch into his abdomen after he had smashed the jaw of another. And he stiffened in his seat, felt the involuntarily flex of his biceps, the contraction of his thighs. Suddenly his sweater felt so tight, prickling against his skin. The silence seemed loud and boisterous. Eren though he liked noise. But there was nothing noisier than sitting with himself in the quiet.

"Being fucked up is not an excuse to do horrible things to the people you say you love, Eren." Zeke's tone held the same intensity, but became a bit gentler, as if he, too, felt the heaviness that gathered around them. "It's unjustified. You can't keep hurting others because you're hurting. It needs to stop. It has to stop."

But how would it stop? How could he make it all stop? The inner pain, the mental anguish? How he searched for his mother in anything that was good to him, and in fear and panic destroy it all because it was just so much easier to continue suffering. To tolerate existing, but never really live. To face all that hurt, rear it to the surface…the thought of it alone was terrifying, fucking excruciating.

"I'll give you the ring, Eren."

Both brothers snapped their necks towards Grisha. And he remained seated there, as if in mediation, as Zeke had given his lecture. He still seemed so serene, so focused, a light breath blowing from parted lips. His eyes met Eren's and connected there, unmoving, penetrating.

"I'll give you your mother's ring."

Zeke shook his head rapidly as he rubbed at his forehead. "Dad, stop, don't encourage him. He needs to learn—"

"You want her back, Eren? Who am I to stop you?" His tone was an enigma, and Eren was unable to discern if he was serious or sarcastic. He tried to read his gaze, followed the lines that delved into his forehead, the delicate glittering of his eyes. It was something deep, something profound in him. Something that had moved him to the point of either fury or empathy. And Eren saw his father's hands smother into fists, resting gently on the table.

"I'll give you the ring. But not the one you want. I'll give you your mother's emerald. It meant everything to her, and do you know why? Because it was the same color as your eyes. She loved you so much, she wanted a piece of you with her always. And she was dead and buried before I could ever give it back to her."

Grisha paused then, the glitter in his eyes becoming a thick gloss. Eren could see his knuckles turn white, a gentle tremble to his hands. He must have needed to compose himself, his breath a thick quaver as it slipped from his nostrils.

"So it belongs on the hand of the woman who loves you," he finally furthered, his stare seeping into him. "Give it to her. Do whatever it is you think you have to do. But I never want to see that ring again, Eren. Even if you fuck up and she wants nothing to do with you. Because I'd rather her throw it in the ocean than for you to bring it back and tarnish everything it stands for."

Grisha took his wine glass, fingers swirling around the spine gracefully. And he looked down at the thick liquid, the delicate quiver that pulsed through the center and formed gentle ripples along its surface. It was like poison in a glass. Bitter, disgusting. But it made Eren want more, that he gripped his own glass for a moment, eying the remnants that trickled within. Just a few drops, maybe he could salvage them.

"You choose the one girl you want to give this ring to. Because you will not be passing it around, from woman to woman. You find that girl who is as special to you as your mother. As worthy. And if it is this girl, give her the goddamn ring."

~oOo~

It felt like he was being dragged out of the gates of hell when he was forced awake the next morning.

It was like an assault on his soul as the blanket was hoisted off his body, his skin exposed to the frost of the early morning. His nipples hardened painfully, that he retracted within himself to garner some source of heat. But when he felt the shove of cold hands against his shoulders, Eren's eyes sprang open.

Seeing Zeke's face first thing in the morning made bile creep up his throat, with his stupid glasses and stupid beard and neatly parted hair. What time was it? Eren didn't care, it was too early. A groan grumbled so deep in his throat that it was buried in his chest, and he shoved his face into a pillow to shield him from the welcoming sunlight that glared from his window.

"What the fuck." Eren's arms embraced the soft cushion, still feeling Zeke's presence behind him. It was annoying enough to keep even a coma patient awake.

"Get up, shit head."

Eren smothered himself into the pillow, fingers delving into the mattress. "Go away, usually we don't want to kill each other until the afternoon."

He grunted when Zeke latched onto him once more, dragging his torso off the bed. And there Eren noticed he was wearing a suit, a different one from the evening before. Black, a silvery sheen to the button that clasped his blazer together. The light framed his body in an almost heavenly sheen.

"We're getting an early start today."

Eren shifted to the edge of his bed, knuckles kneading into heavy set eyes. A yawn extended his mouth that he didn't bother trying to conceal. Zeke was already at his closet, springing open the double doors and shuffling through adorned hangers like a man with a clear goal.

A similar black suit encased in a clear garment bag was soon rolled onto the bed beside him. Eren moved a thick chunk of disheveled hair behind his ear, eyes squinting at the wardrobe as if it were a dead body. Crinkles pressed into the plastic covering, the jacket and pant combination crisp and neat.

"Now get dressed and meet me in the car."

As Zeke headed for the door, he threw one more look towards him, his glasses sliding lower down his nose as his eyes narrowed in repulsion. "And Jesus Christ, please don't put on anymore cologne."

Eren could have just ignored him and went back to sleep, but there was some kind of aggravating determination present in his brother that morning, that he knew he was not going to relent. And so he heaved himself out of bed and got dressed.

As he was brushing his hair in the bathroom and setting it into place in the same half ponytail he wore last night, he narrowed in on his reflection. The hair tie snapped against his fingers as he gathered the thick brown locks in his hands, smoothing it neatly while he coiled it into its tight bondage. Those same baby hairs peppered his forehead and temples. They didn't bother him so much today. And he focused on his complexion, thinking himself not as dark as Zeke fretted over. His face was smooth, clean shaven. Eyes bright and alert, their hue a generous viridian. Nothing like the death of the leaves that sprinkled the concrete.

It had been a while since he had seen himself like this—aware, put together, not feeling like he was going to die from a hangover. The suit hugged his body comfortably, enhancing his lean shape, the gentle curves that hinted at tone and definition beneath. Yet, even as he deemed himself ready and headed towards the door, he repositioned himself back in front of that mirror, hands splayed against the creamy porcelain counter. His eyes scanned the assortment of familiar products that neatly lined the surface until he found what he was looking for.

And he sighed in satisfaction as he spritzed a generous amount of cologne into his palms, tapping it against the warm skin of his neck.

The car ride was silent and shrouded in mystery. Zeke wouldn't tell him where they were going. But Eren wasn't fucking stupid. He knew. The moment he saw that suit, even when he stepped in the car and heard the Lionel Richie tape that always hummed through the speakers at low volume. Every. Fucking. Time.

And he saw how Zeke's nose shriveled the instant he entered the entrapment, giving him that displeased side-eye he had been hoping for. He always drove so slow and cautious, extending his elbow out the window to showcase his direction even though he had a turn signal. The stillness was torture, hearing the keys jumping against the ignition, the gentle pattering of his breath. It was suffocating, that Eren wanted to say something to piss him off just to combat the racing of his thoughts.

And he wasn't surprised when he saw the open gates to the cemetery, the encompassing grass that greeted them as Zeke drove inside. Such a vibrant shade of green, all cut neat and watered, feeding off the corpses buried in the dirt.

When Zeke parked, his fingers lingered, clenched against the gear shift. Eren could feel the gentle vibration of the engine as they sat there quietly, the music playing softly and eerily. All night long. All night. All night. All night. His gaze drifted towards the window, observing the tombstones that embellished the grasses.

They seemed to look at each other at the same time, expressions almost identical. And there, Zeke turned the key, extinguishing the low roar, stopping the music.

Eren gave him a look that reeked resistance, defiance, and Zeke rubbed harshly at his mouth and jaw, snapping his gaze forward.

"What did you think we were going to do? Go fucking shopping?"

And he didn't hesitate then, when he snapped the door open and exited the car. Eren watched, unmoving, how his trench coat draped over his suit, the polished heels of his oxfords immediately sinking into the dirt, while the rest of the shoe shone the glossiest shade of black.

Eren sat in the car a moment longer. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was still from his refusal of being dragged here in the first place. Or maybe it was fear, the anxiety of being there again, so close to her. To a body dead covered in feet of dirt. Sparkly wet grass. It made him sick to his stomach.

He followed Zeke out of the car, walking alongside him. They stood almost equal in height, in build. They shared the same father, and in as many ways as they were different, they were also alike. Rude, stubborn, arrogant. He felt the sludge of the grass beneath his shoes. Shimmering, sloshing. They kept the dirt too pretty here. It was almost insulting.

When they found her grave, they stopped, facing the tombstone. Just like he always remembered it. Unchanging, constant. Consistent. An extravagant slab of cement. Bigger than the others surrounding it. As if it made a difference. It didn't change the simple truth that her body was somewhere in there, rotting, in whatever state of decompose it was. Even if diamonds encrusted the fucking thing, it wouldn't matter.

They stood there together, fists shoved in coat pockets, perfect lines indented into the shins of their slacks. Staring downwards, outwards, taking in the shivers of cold air gliding against them, the fervent sheen of the sun. And that grass he couldn't fucking get over. Why did it upset him so much? Whether it was the healthy ground or the dead leaves sprinkling it. Nothing would satisfy him. It felt similar to the state of merely existing.

Yet, when he heard the gentle flick of a lighter, Eren's gaze shot directly to his brother, watching in horror as Zeke shuddered into his coat, slipping a cigarette into his mouth as he inhaled a warm breath of smokey air. Repeated blinks because maybe he was imagining it. But no, Zeke was fucking smoking, unabashedly, right in front of his mother's grave.

The scowl that crossed Eren's face was so steep that it physically hurt, and his fists coiled compactly into his coat. "That's fucking disrespectful, asshole."

Zeke kept his gaze forward, unbothered, a gust of fog evading his mouth and engulfing him in a brief haze. And he held the cigarette with a bent elbow, ashes slowly trinkling from the tip.

"Shut the fuck up, Eren," he mused, a gentle shake to his head. "Want to know what's disrespectful? You not showing up when you were supposed to. I'm here every fucking month with dad. Sitting with him while he talks to her. I buy the flowers we scatter over her tombstone only to be picked up by gardening hours later. Don't tell me how to be respectful."

More silence, even more smoke. It slithered towards him, embracing the inners of his nostrils. It made him force an exaggerated cough. But again, nothing fazed Zeke.

"You shouldn't smoke anyway. You're a fucking doctor."

He huffed in response. Finally, a fucking reaction. "Are you going to call up my patients and let them know I'm a fucking hypocrite?"

Eren didn't answer him, instead focusing on the grave, reading his mother's name over and over again. Sometimes it was so beautiful, hearing the sound in his mind. Like a gentle song, a hum of a lullaby. Yet, a lot of the time, it sounded like shouting, shrieks—sharp, desolate sobs that rang in his head, pounding. Pounding. And it wouldn't stop.

"They say funerals are for the living."

When Eren glanced at him, Zeke was still avoiding him, gaze ahead, seeming to read the stone as his eyes traced the lettering warily. The smoke flowed from the cigarette and cascaded around his form. It was a lustrous sight, almost like divine intervention.

"I think this is, too. Visiting graves. It's for the living." He finally looked at Eren, his glance alert yet cautious.

"I didn't even get to go to her funeral," he countered, the words sour in his mouth. He was in the hospital, recovering from a bullet to his gut. But at least he got to scatter some of her ashes afterward. He wasn't sure which body part of hers they sacrificed so he could do that. "But it doesn't change anything, even if I went. And coming here now, nothing's different."

Another wave of solitude. This time a bit unsettling. Eren was studying Zeke, noticing the subtle changes in his expression, how his lips curved towards his chin, the gentle slope of his ashen brows. Their gazes met again, but this time it locked. Smoke blended with the gentle tug of the wind between them. And they stood so close, but somehow felt very far away.

"I hate seeing you like this, Eren."

The words spilled from his mouth in almost a whisper, that Eren thought it was only an illusion at first. But when Zeke inhaled another round of smoke, and a glassiness shielded his eyes, Eren felt himself shiver. From the cold, from his own apprehension.

"Watching this. Seeing you spiral. Slowly, carefully. It scares me. Eleven years. And I don't know what to do. How to get through to you. How to help." The cigarette bent as he strangled it against his fingers. "It's like you're struggling to be alive. It's a chore for you just to live. You search for an escape every fucking day. So tell me, Eren—How bad has the drinking gotten?"

He stiffened then, his breath captured in his lungs. No escape, no distractions. "How do you—"

"Come on, you have never been good at hiding it, even though you managed to be a functioning drunk. But yesterday, I saw that look in your eyes. Like an addict looking for his next fix. I had dad lock the liquor cabinets."

They were facing one another, separated by the sharp breeze, how it tousled at his hair, caressed his face. It felt like someone was holding his cheekbones, taking him in an embrace. Eren didn't comment on the drinking, because he didn't know what to say. Admit that yes, he did have a problem? Agree with Zeke that he was spiraling? They both already knew the answer. So he kept his mouth shut.

"Why are you even studying medicine, Eren?" Zeke kept that same, gentle tone. It was unlike him. Maybe the cigarette was burning his throat, that he couldn't raise his voice at him. "Is it because you feel like you need to? To fulfill some vague purpose you haven't even defined yourself?"

Despite the cold, Eren could feel himself begin to sweat in his trench coat. The question caught him off guard, that he suddenly felt clumsy, unbalanced. "I want to."

"Really?" Zeke quipped, a single brow rising in intrigue. He sipped from the cigarette, and smoke engulfed his next words. "So you want to be in school and then residency for the next ten years? An endless cycle of studying and exams until you're thrust in the hospital and even then you won't have any sort of title until your thirties. Sounds too tedious for you. Mister quick witted and passionate." He paused, as if wanting what he said to resonate with him. "Sounds like a way for you to hide behind textbooks for years, because you don't know what you'd really like to do with your life. It sure as hell isn't this." And he gestured to himself vaguely, tracing random shapes with smoke.

And Zeke was right. He was fucking right. And it pissed Eren off knowing this, that he was and had been just going through the motions. Hiding behind textbooks, just like he said. Trickling towards a career he never really wanted, but it's ok, because he had plenty of time before it even mattered, when he would inevitably throw it all away as he got too close to succeeding,

But what the fuck was he supposed to do? Because he never thought about it differently, as if there was another option. It had felt like a path that had been already laid out for him. One he could follow in simplicity and maintain the life he was living. Any more thought would mean giving himself a purpose, something that was more than just merely existing.

"Do you even have any hobbies?" And Zeke rolled his eyes, answering his own question. "And drinking and having sex aren't hobbies."

Eren rubbed generously at his nose to alleviate the pinching feeling he felt from the smoke, and he considered the inquiry for a moment. Mikasa had asked him the same question before. It stumped him then, too.

"I like…working out." And it was true. It was probably the only thing he enjoyed doing, was able to healthily maintain during all this turmoil and conflict. It was distracting, challenging. He enjoyed the way it made him feel, the stretch of his muscles, the panting from an elevated heartbeat.

Zeke seemed satisfied with it, at least. "There you go. Major in exercise science. Become a personal trainer. Physical therapist. Probably already took most of the classes you need. You can graduate on time." And he relished in his cigarette, closing his eyes as a delicate lift filled his chest. "But, don't go making any brash decisions. Sleep on it. Think about what you really want to do, and go fucking do it."

But it didn't feel encouraging. He was saying all the right things, making so much sense. But it was all so terrifying, just thinking about it. And Eren could feel the gentle patter of his panic, strumming, as if pleading with him. Don't change. Don't fucking change. It's easier to just stay the same.

And in his own despair, he voiced it. Because Zeke was there, and he was actually listening. He just needed someone to listen to him for once. It was so draining only talking to himself all the time.

"I'm afraid of change." Eren's voice faltered, his confession leaking from his mouth clumsily. And he almost wanted to swallow it back up, as if he had never said it. But he was too far gone, a film of tears glossing his eyes, a quiver taking his bottom lip. Don't change. Don't change. Somebody please just listen.

"If I change, that means I have to face myself. I have to open my eyes and experience everything. Feel everything. And it fucking hurts. I don't want to feel it. I don't want to feel it."

A tear slid down his cheek, its trek cut shirt as he briskly shooed it away with rough knuckles. "Living is hard enough. Going through the motions, always looking for ways to feel better. Now you're asking me to be alive. I can't just do that. I can't. Not while she's buried there, fucking rotting in the earth because of me."

Zeke balanced the cigarette at the side of his mouth, the stream still consistent, but he was no longer smoking it. Instead, he stood there solemnly, shoulders slouched, hands clenched like trembling mitts. And Eren watched him, while crying like a fucking baby, just wanting him to say something. Anything.

"Nobody blames you, Eren. I hope you know that."

And he tensed, more tears leaving the haven of his eyes and taking refuge on his cheeks. Warmth and wetness caressed him at once, and this time he didn't try to wipe them away.

"Even if you blame yourself. None of us blame you."

Eren saw the fall of his expression, the anguish that encompassed Zeke's face then, as his brows pinched together, wrinkles creasing near his eyes. He didn't remember the last time he had ever seen him so distressed and grievous. It sent a pang of guilt straight into his gut and more tears to sodden his face.

"Do you think we blamed you when you were in that hospital, Eren? When we didn't know whether you would live or die? Were we blaming you when we were at your bedside praying for a miracle, hoping we wouldn't lose you too?"

A thickness distorted Zeke's voice, that Eren could barely recognize him. He was crumbling, falling apart just like him. Uncried tears glistened like tarnished silver against his eyes, a gentle quaver taking him captive. And when he thrust firm hands upon his shoulders, Eren froze, solidified in place as if he had been turned to stone. Except for the hammering of his own panic, his heart, drumming the same tune. Don't change. Somebody please just listen.

"I don't want it to hurt you anymore. I don't want you to feel like living is a burden, like your life wasn't worth being saved—"

"But it shouldn't have been me," he countered heatedly, feeling tears scorch his neck as he shook his head. Eren tried to shove off his hold on him, but Zeke only dug his fingers firmer into his shoulders. "It should have been her. I'd do anything to take her place—"

"No."

A beat passed, filled with panting, shattered breaths. Two brothers facing the pain and guilt from losing a loved one in different ways. Eren felt the press of his fingers, digging into him, squeezing at firm deltoids.

"Don't ever say that again." Zeke spoke with such a passion that he spat the words, drenching his face with his emotion. "Not dad or even Carla would have wanted that. Never fucking say that again."

And whatever shield he had in place to block his tears was relinquished, abandoned. Flooding his cheeks, immersing into his beard. His eyes turned red, swollen, and the cigarette was long gone, having fallen somberly to the grass below him.

The sunlight was beaming, overbearing. Intentional. It enveloped them, bringing them together, melding their tears, while the wind attempted to wipe them clean, to ease them of their surface in its chill embrace.

"Because I'm glad you didn't die that day, Eren. I'm so fucking grateful. I don't know how I would have lived without you."

Even as Zeke jerked him into his arms, it felt natural, soothing. That somebody was finally listening, that desolate plea within him now a harrowing scream. Begging, pleading, praying. And at last being heard outside his own judgmental prison.

~oOo~

"This isn't breakfast."

Zeke shrugged as he shoved Eren into the capacious room. "Sure it is. Grab a donut and sit down."

He could hear the patter of their footsteps against the brown tile. And when he saw the row of chairs arranged in a messy circle, Eren turned around and huddled against his brother.

A stiffness took his expression, that his eyes were ample yet solemn, the green in them seeming to flicker in distress. He looked around for a moment cautiously as more bodies began to saunter into the room. "You brought me to a goddamn AA meeting?" Then his gaze drifted to their attire before returning sternly to his face. "Dressed like the fucking Men in Black?"

"Relax, it's a good look. We're like church goers."

"It's Friday, asshole."

Zeke pushed him forward however, but Eren held his stance. "You're really going to make me do this?"

"Every week. Same time, same place. And I'll be there to make sure you go through with it."

Eren sighed, his ponytail suddenly feeling painfully tight as he rubbed at his scalp. "I have class Friday mornings."

"Shut the fuck up, Eren. No you don't."